


(ir)regular

by abrandnewheart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Meet-Cute, Olympics, Onigiri Miya, Post-Time Skip, they meet at the store and it all just goes from there really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewheart/pseuds/abrandnewheart
Summary: The majority of his work is made up of dealing with strangers, and that is even more true here, now, with strangers from all around the globe flooding the streets of Tokyo. It’s not exactly unusual to see tourists, but it isn’t something Osamu could describe as common either.Now though, with the whole world watching the Olympics, and with some percentage making a journey to Tokyo to watch in-person, there are more strangers than ever.It’s that fact which explains why Osamu does not immediately recognise the person in front of him, even though he wears a sky blue tracksuit which has the letters ARG printed in bold font.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 38
Kudos: 158





	(ir)regular

Osamu is no stranger to strangers. He spends the day serving customers, after all, seeing face after face. Many of them stop by just once, maybe twice, and they disappear into crowds never to be seen again. 

Some of them become regulars, or semi-regulars. There’s the old lady who only stops by on Fridays, who picks up all sorts of onigiri to share with her grandchildren. There are the nameless businessmen who stop by and reveal nothing except for how tired they are. There’s the pretty lady who works at the coffee shop across the street from the flagship branch, who gushes about his food, and who Osamu swears makes the best flat white he’s ever had. 

There’s Akaashi, who stops by when he is able and is full of compliments every time. There’s Atsumu’s teammates, who Osamu normally gives freebies to—or rather, he tries to give freebies to them, but they pay him back with promotion that he never asks for or expects. There’s Atsumu too, he supposes, but he doesn’t count—he’s the least regular type of regular Osamu has ever had, because he picks something different every time. 

The majority of his work is made up of dealing with strangers though, and that is even more true here, now, with strangers from all around the globe flooding the streets of Tokyo. It’s not exactly unusual to see tourists, but it isn’t something Osamu could describe as common either.

Now though, with the whole world watching the Olympics, and with some percentage making a journey to Tokyo to watch in-person, there are more strangers than ever. 

It’s that fact which explains why Osamu does not immediately recognise the person in front of him, even though he wears a sky blue tracksuit which has the letters ARG printed in bold font.

“What can I get you?” Osamu hears the weariness in his own voice, but he reminds himself that it is a good kind of weary. They’ve extended their hours and offerings for these few special weeks. It has been a good thing (or at least, he will know that it has been a good thing when he can run the numbers again), but it has meant 5am wake-up calls and crashing into bed at 11pm. It has meant a bone-deep tiredness that Osamu is not sure will lift once this is all over and he can take a break. It has meant feeling like he wants to curl up right there on the counter and use a sack of Kita’s rice as a pillow. (He’d had a dream like that, just the other night, sleeping on bags of rice and wrapped up in a nori blanket). It has meant looking out the window one minute and seeing daylight and then looking again what feels like five minutes later and seeing that the night has come.

“What do you recommend?” The man asks, as Osamu peers over his shoulder. It is dark out. Another day, gone in the blink of an eye. 

“I recommend all of it,” He quips, but he knows it’s not the right way to answer the question and so he follows up with, “The umeboshi always goes over well with other customers. There’s only a few left. Or we just added one with an avocado filling— the tourists like it a lot.”

Osamu looks up and considers the man before him properly, then adds, “But I’m surprised to see someone like you in a place like this. I hear there’s a huge canteen at the Village and all the food you could ask for.”

Oikawa’s eyes visibly flick up from looking at the onigiri on display to looking at Osamu’s face. Osamu watches a flash of—perhaps confusion, perhaps recognition, and he wonders quite what the man in front of him is thinking. He and Atsumu aren’t quite so identical, not any more, but it would be hard to pretend they don’t look the same in the face. 

Oikawa rolls his shoulders back and shrugs in a terribly dramatic fashion as he says, “There are a few days left before the games start, and I wanted to see some of Tokyo because I’ve only been here a few times and I wanted some comfort food. And besides, my friend said here was supposed to be good!” 

Osamu quirks an eyebrow. “Your friend someone I know?”

“I dunno, you know a guy called Iwa-chan?” 

Osamu’s does his best to recall, and the fuzzy image of a stocky, dark-haired staff member who’d joined him in messing with Atsumu comes to mind. “Iwaizumi?” He asks. He watches as Oikawa’s face lights up, then nods, “Yeah, yeah, I met him once. Works with my brother.”

All at once, Oikawa’s face contorts, visibly confused, only settling when realisation dawns. “ _Miya,_ ” He says, “I _knew_ you looked familiar.”

“Well, we _are_ twins.”

“Touché.” 

A silence falls. Osamu only breaks it again to ask, “So what can I actually get for you? On the house if you let me take a picture for our insta.” 

“Surprise me,” Oikawa answers, with a shrug. “You’re the expert. I’ll take your word on it.”

Osamu grins, nods, and goes about picking three separate flavours and packing them up. When he looks up, it’s just in time to see Oikawa snapping a picture of the onigiri that’s on display behind glass. “I’m gonna post about being here.”

“Before you even tried the food?” Osamu places the bag of food on the countertop. “Flattery gets you everywhere I suppose.”

“Iwa-chan said it was good, and he hasn’t steered me wrong yet,” Oikawa explains, and Osamu shrugs. All publicity is good publicity, after all, so he won’t complain. 

His phone pings; a notification, and a quick glance shows that Oikawa’s posted the photo already, with a caption of _how good does this stuff look?!_

Osamu flicks to his camera, says, “Smile,” and snaps a photo the second Oikawa’s looked up from his own phone. He’s thrown a peace sign up with his fingers, and has a wide smile across his face. Atsumu would call the guy irritating for being photogenic without much effort or prep or fussing about camera angles. Osamu is just grateful that he doesn’t have to take the photo a million times. He flips his phone to show Oikawa just in case, and when he nods, he sets about adding a caption so he can post the photo. 

_It’s not every day an actual Olympian shows up!_

Within seconds, Atsumu comments _i was literally there yesterday_ and Osamu has to hold back a snort of laughter. 

“Thank you for the food, Miya,” Oikawa says, reaching for the bag of onigiri. “If it’s good I’ll come back sometime.” 

“See you around, Oikawa.”

~

True to his word, Oikawa shows up again later in the week, after a decisive win against Italy. There’s a couple of days before the Argentinian team is due to play again, at least according to the commentator on the stream Osamu has had running for most of the day. 

Oikawa greets him with, “Miya-chan,” and Osamu pulls a face. Nobody’s called him anything remotely similar since he was a child, and he says as much back to Oikawa. 

“Then… Osa-chan?” 

Osamu doesn’t much prefer it, in all honesty, but it’s a far kinder nickname than he’s been granted by some other people (primarily Atsumu) and so he nods his approval. 

“So Osa-chan,” Oikawa bounds over to one of the high chairs in the dine-in area and perches himself on it. He rests his chin on his hands and his elbows on the counter as he looks up at Osamu, then to the big TV that’s showing live coverage of the Olympics as they happen. “What have you got for me today?”

“A ‘well done on winning earlier, you played well’ and,” Osamu pauses, perusing the onigiri flavours of the day before selecting one with an umeboshi filling. “This to start and whatever else you want after.” 

“I suppose you’ll want more promo, hm?” Oikawa asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before he takes a bite of the onigiri. 

Osamu shrugs, an easy smile finding its way to his mouth, “It’d be nice, but I’m not gonna force you.” 

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, pulls his phone from his pocket and—does something that Osamu can’t quite figure out immediately. He figures it out when Oikawa waggles his fingers at the camera, practically beaming as he starts talking. “Hi insta! Can you guess where I am?” 

Osamu watches, practically in horror, as Oikawa pans around the store. “It’s really quiet here this evening, and that’s such a shame because the onigiri is so good!” 

Osamu isn’t sure whether to be offended. They’d done a fantastic amount of trade at lunch; that later meals are quieter is just a fact of doing this kind of business. “The store is Onigiri Miya, and the address is…” 

He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the tv screen. It’s highlights from the day, and Osamu smiles to himself—just a little—as a close-up of his brother, red in the face and covered in sweat but smiling in spite of it, flashes up on screen. 

His attention is pulled away at the call of, “Osa-chan!” There is a phone thrust in his face, and Oikawa keeps talking all the same as Osamu looks into the camera and then off to the side and then over the top of the phone at Oikawa. “This is Osamu and he runs the store. He’s the twin brother of one of the setters on the Japanese volleyball team! Say hi.”

Osamu manages a wave, and a, “Hello, welcome to Onigiri Miya.” He’s never been incredibly good at speaking off-the-cuff (he never had to be, when Atsumu did most of the talking for them as children), so he isn’t really prepared when Oikawa starts asking questions like, “When did you open up the Tokyo branch? Where’s the flagship store? What’s your favourite flavour?” in quick succession. 

Nonetheless, he does his best to answer, and he tips his cap forward and looks a little lower than the camera to hide the way his cheeks are going pink. Maybe nobody will notice.

He gets no such luck, because Oikawa’s next statement is, “Oh no, we’re embarrassing him. Well - that’s all for now! Wish me luck for my next game! I’ll go live again after that one too!”

“How do you do it?” Osamu asks once the phone has safely been put away. 

“How do I do what? Look this good? Play so well?”

“Have that much energy on - what, an instagram live?”

“Oh, that? That’s easy, let me tell you all about it…”

Osamu doesn’t expect Oikawa to know so much about marketing or social media algorithms. He pulls a notepad out from under the counter to keep track of some of the information; what times of day are best to post, the best way to order hashtags, how often to reply to comments, how often to post. It’s a minefield, and he knew he didn’t know a lot, but he’d sorely underestimated just how little he knew. 

“Thanks,” He says as Oikawa goes to leave, right at closing time. It had gotten later far quicker than either of them seemed to realise. People came and went, and Oikawa seemed all too happy to sit and observe the way Osamu worked. “For stopping by I mean.”

“Sure thing, Osa-chan. I’ll probably stop by again sometime!” 

Osamu waves. Oikawa waves back. 

Not even five minutes later, there’s a ping on his phone. An instagram notification; his personal account, tagged in a photo he doesn’t remember being taken. He’s smiling fondly in what he knows to be the direction of the main entrance of the store, with an onigiri in his hands. The caption: _get yourself a guy who looks at you the way he looks when he’s thinking about food._

Osamu isn’t all too sure what to think, but he double-taps the photo to like it all the same. 

~

Osamu thinks he might not see Oikawa again until after the match against Brazil, if he sees him again at all. Instead, he appears again the next day, during the lunch rush, and babbles a, “I’m out sightseeing, my friend is waiting, sorry,” as he thrusts over coins and notes in return for two tuna-filled onigiri. 

When Osamu looks out the window, he sees none other than Iwaizumi Hajime with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and looking simultaneously like he doesn’t really want to be there and like he’s secretly kind of pleased to be there, after all.

~

The funny thing about running a store like this is that some people become ‘regulars’ far more quickly than others. It took Osamu two weeks of the girl from the coffee shop across the street stopping by for him to remember her and build a rapport. It took him four with the old lady with the grandkids. It can take six or eight for the businessmen who pass through with barely a word. 

It takes Oikawa a grand total of two proper visits and one rushed one. When Osamu sees that Argentina have beaten Brazil in the semi-finals, he prepares for a visit. 

If it’s one that happens soon, they’ll be able to watch and see if Japan beat Russia. It’s going to be a good game, or so Atsumu says, especially because one of Japan’s liberos normally plays in Russia, and knows quite a few of their players. 

Sure enough, Oikawa appears right between the second and third set. The first set went to Japan. The second went to Russia. Oikawa practically jumps into one of the high seats at the counter and immediately demands, “Who do you think is going to win?”

Osamu looks up with a lopsided smile. “Nice to see you too. Tsumu and the others are playing well so I think it’ll be us, but you never really know, I suppose.”

He looks up at the television, then glances back at Oikawa, who’s transfixed. “Don’t you have anywhere better to be? I figured your team would be celebrating.”

“Nah,” Oikawa says, but he doesn’t look at Osamu, instead staring up and grimacing as a close-up of Ushijima plays out on screen. “The food in the canteen is like... it’s good canteen food, but it’s canteen food. And we can’t drink, so there’s not really any other good way to celebrate. Besides,” Oikawa does look at Osamu this time, with a devilish grin, “I like the view here.”

Osamu looks out the glass storefront, and wonders how this particular Tokyo street is so interesting. 

He shrugs his shoulders with no answer in sight, offers Oikawa a spicy chicken onigiri, and leans back against the counter to watch the game. 

On more than one occasion, when he glances at Oikawa, he finds Oikawa glancing right back. 

When Japan wins the game, Oikawa practically launches himself across the counter to place his hands on Osamu’s shoulders. 

“Do you know what this means?” He asks, or demands, or somewhere in between. 

“You’re playing against Japan?” It’s the obvious answer, maybe.

“It means I’m gonna kick their asses. _Publicly._ ”

Osamu can’t help his snort of laughter. 

~

It is tense the day of the final. Kita has come to watch the game with him, but even his steady and reassuring presence cannot loosen the knot in Osamu’s stomach. This may be his brother’s one and only chance at a gold medal; there is no guarantee that he would make a team again. It’s absolutely his only chance to win an Olympics on home turf. They will likely never see another Olympics in Japan in their lifetimes. It really is now or never. 

The 11 is heavy on his back. Osamu has never regretted his choices or where he has ended up in life, but the fact that he cannot physically be present to support his brother right now is almost enough to make him change his mind. 

Regardless of what happens, he is proud. 

The game is almost infuriating. Set one goes to a deuce that doesn’t get broken until the score goes 29-27 eventually won by Argentina. Set two goes to Japan. Set three to Argentina. Four to Japan. Five goes to 33-31 and Atsumu makes a frankly _ridiculous_ play that he should probably get an earful for, but it’s what wins Japan the set and ultimately the whole game. 

Not just the whole game. The entire competition. The Japanese team are gold medalists. 

The store falls quiet as people process what’s happened, and then erupts. 

Osamu vaults the counter to pull Kita in for a hug, and then his grandmother, and then everyone he can get his hands on. 

The store is noisy, noisier than ever, with yells of “They did it,” and “holy shit,” and “we won,” and who knows what else interspersed throughout. 

They don’t quieten down until the medal ceremony. Osamu feels a pang of something he can’t name in his chest as he watches the Argentinian team get silver medals hung around their necks, and as he watches Oikawa kiss the medal. 

He can name the feelings watching his brother, and friends, get gold medals hung around their necks. Pride. Joy. If he gets a little choked up watching the ceremony, it’s okay, because he’s absolutely not the only one. 

Today is a day he’ll remember forever. 

He is not surprised when Oikawa does not show up that afternoon. 

~

It isn’t long after the volleyball finals that the Games are wrapping up in their entirety, and it isn’t long after that that life is… more or less back to normal. Perhaps the only change from before is that Atsumu is even cockier now, which Osamu hadn’t thought was possible. Apparently it is. 

The tourists begin to leave the country. Business begins to go back to a normal level. People who had made themselves regulars, over their brief few weeks in Tokyo are nowhere to be seen. 

That is, to say, except for one. The most irregular regular. 

Oikawa steps into the store on a Wednesday evening. It is dusk, and Osamu can see traces of a lilac sky behind tall buildings outside the storefront. The store is quiet, just like it usually is past the main dinner rush. 

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Osamu says, before Oikawa can even open his mouth in greeting. 

“Well, I had to stop by again, didn’t I? You think I’m going to pass up the tastiest dish in town?” Oikawa winks. Osamu isn’t sure the comment was worth a wink. 

“You’re a flatterer.” This much Osamu has determined as fact, based not only on his own interactions with Oikawa, but from what he’s observed of post-game interviews and how he handles himself on instagram. 

“So it’s working.”

“What?”

“You feel flattered. That’s the point.”

Osamu blinks. “Oh.”

Oikawa takes his usual spot at the counter. He snaps a photo of Osamu as he ponders the onigiri selection. Osamu hands him an onigiri filled with shrimp and only then does he reach for his phone to check the notification. 

_Do you think him or the onigiri’s the tastier dish?_

Osamu stares at his phone. He looks up at Oikawa, who’s happily shoving rice into his face like he hasn’t just put some terribly blatant pick-up line as a caption on a photo of Osamu. 

“You can take a picture. It’ll last longer.” 

Oikawa throws a peace sign up with his hand. Osamu fumbles with his phone but snaps a picture all the same, then falls into silence as he debates what to do. 

Eventually, he settles on posting it, with a caption of: _my favourite setter stopped by today._

Within moments, there’s a furious _hEY_ from Atsumu. 

Oikawa laughs, though it’s almost more like a snort. It shouldn’t be sweet. It is all the same. 

“I guess,” Osamu ventures, “you’re going to have to come back to Japan some time and kick everyone’s asses properly, huh?”

Oikawa licks one of his fingers, sucking off a single grain of rice which had gotten stuck. He lets it go with a pop, then says, “Seems that way.”

“When do you leave?” 

“Day after tomorrow. One more day of sightseeing if I want it, but I know where the view’s the best.” 

Osamu swallows. It’s more blatant than a grease stain on a white shirt, and yet there’s an odd set of nerves. “We could hang out. Tomorrow I mean. Maybe if you came back to visit sometime, too.”

Oikawa considers it, or pretends to consider it. Osamu thinks it might be the latter based on the smirk that follows. 

“I’d like that a lot.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A very quick spelling/grammar read was done by [Rachel](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes).
> 
> If you want to keep up with what I'm working on, you can [follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/abrandnewheart)!


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